Letters You'll Never Get
by AmazinglyMe
Summary: Kate is writing letters to Jack, letter she'll never deliver, letters he'll never get. Rated PG or K. [COMPLETE]
1. Dear Mr Shepard

**A/N: This is going to be a series of letters from Kate to Jack, starting at some point in time a little before the episode "What Kate Did" so it will contain spoilers at least up to, and perhaps beyond, that point. Since Lost is one a LONG hiatus, this will forge ahead, past what's been seen so far. I really hope you enjoy it. I've got a couple more written, so let me know if you want me to continue it.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own Lost. Not any of it. Seriously.  
**

Dear Mr. Shepard,

I don't know why I'm writing this. I honestly don't. I mean, first of all, it's not like there's any postal service on the island or anything. And second, I would never give this to you. **Never**. I think it's part of the island dynamic: I'm Kate, you're Jack, and we'll never get together. We may skirt around each others' edges, probe each others' weaknesses, but we'll never just admit it. Whatever "it" is.

I don't know what "it" is for you, honestly, I don't even know what "it" is for me. But when I'm around you, there's this weird feeling of elation, fear, nerves, and an overwhelming urge to kiss you. Most people I guess would say that "it" is love. But for me, love is different.

I've been so many things - a daughter, a murderer (I know you're cringing right now), a girlfriend (does that make you cringe too?), a fugitive… I'm such a screwed up person that for me, I think love might be a little different than it is for everybody else. For other people, love is finding someone who cares about them, who understands them, and, or so I've heard, who makes fireworks go off and bells ring in their ears. But I'm Kate Austin, and for me, love is something else.

I thought I was in love for a while, with Tom. Have I ever told you about Tom? Well, we'll save that for another letter. The point is, that I thought I was in love. I was just a kid really, but he made my body sort of tingle, and he cared about me. He was my childhood sweetheart.

He's dead.

We won't go into details.

The point is, that the last time I thought I was in love, that was what happened. Death, heartbreak, tears. And looking back on it… With you, I feel different than I did with him.

So what's love for me?

I don't know.

I think that's part of why we can't get together, why we're destined to always carefully avoid each other's eyes (and each others' hearts- I know, corny, aren't I?). Because I don't know what love is. I wonder if you do.

And if I don't know what it is, how can I be in it? How can I be in love?

Jack, I'll let you know if I ever figure this whole thing out. Trust me, you'll know. But until then, I'll sign off, not with "love" but with… I don't know. Sincerity maybe?

Sincerely,

Kate

**A/N: Well, tell me what you thought:) Please do review, constructive crit is welcomed.**


	2. Toy Airplanes

Dear Mr. Shepard,

Do you remember that toy airplane?

You know, the one from the marshal's suitcase. The one I cried over for hours and hours, the one that still sends chills up and down my spine, the one I can't forget no matter how hard I try.

That was Tom's.

And you know what? It's not Tom coming between us Jack. If it's anything, it's that airplane.

It's the knowledge that I killed a guy, I killed I guy I was pretty sure I loved. And that airplane is a…I don't know. A reminder. A ghost. A demon. I can't get rid of it, I can't forget it, and it's standing between us.

I did love him I think. Tom I mean. But I don't know. And until I know, I won't be able to do anything about you. About you and me. About us. Until I can, without a doubt, without a tear, throw that airplane into the ocean and watch it sink, I won't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't even know why I'm writing these. I don't know what I expect them to solve. I don't know what I'm doing.

God Jack, I'm lost.

I don't have help. I don't have Tom, I don't have you, all I have is this stupid little toy airplane.

I have to go. I have to run, really fast, to someplace far away, but when I'm done running, maybe I'll write you another letter. Maybe I'll write you another letter you'll never get. Boy, I'm getting dramatic aren't I?

Sincerely,

Kate

Dear Mr. Shepard,

You know what? Let's talk about Sawyer. Because I see the looks you throw him (sometimes I hope they're jealous ones, angry ones) and I just want to get one thing straight.

Sawyer is Sawyer and you are you. And you're completely different people. I know that doesn't help. I just…needed to say it. Because, once again, I don't know what I'm doing.

I mean, I'll admit it. I've felt things for him. I have, definitely. He reminds me of this guy I used to know. It was a guy I hated, but Sawyer, some how, is an anchor. Sure, my life before this island sucked. But at least it was a life, a predictable one, not life on a dangerous, deadly island. And Sawyer is a root, a lifeline, back to the way I used to be, the people I used to know, the places I used to live. That's why I care about him.

I don't know if I love him. If love is surges of affection that you can't explain, combined with fiery anger that you can easily direct, if love is seeing someone and knowing them all to well, and yet, in some ways, not quite well enough, then maybe I do love him.

But if love is security and yet a risk, if love is elation and fear, if love is knowing that you'll be okay…most of the time, then I love you.

Either way, love seems to be a huge paradox, an oxymoron, and an all-together frightening prospect.

Like I said, I don't know what I'm doing.

I hate Sawyer. I really do. Most of the time.

And you… I don't hate you…most of the time.

He's gone. He's on that raft, he's not here. I don't know where he is, I don't know what happened to him.

Part of me is glad because he was a conflict, a conundrum, a bewildering, frightening challenge. Part of me is scared about what I might do about him. Part of me hopes he never comes back.

And part of me is terrified that he won't. Terrified that he won't show up, or that he'll be dead, or dying. That I'll never get to explain all this to him, never get to write **him** a letter, never get to say things to him. I don't know what I'd say, but maybe, if I got lucky, I'd open my mouth and the right thing would just pop out.

I don't know where he is Jack, and it's terrifying me. Either that he'll come back, or that he won't, and I can't decide which one scares me most.

Sincerely,

Kate


	3. Sawyer and Wayne

**A/N: Well, here they are, the next two letters. For those people who've asked if there's more than just letters to this story, the answer is probably yes (I have some semblance of a plot sketched out for these) but not until much later in the story. shrug Other than that, please read and review!**

Dear Mr. Shepard,

Oh God Jack.

He's back.

Sawyer's back.

He showed up slung over a tall, Jamaican guy's shoulders, feverish and half dead and I'm so scared for him that I'm practically out of my mind.

He's lying on a little cot, looking like he's about to absolutely die and I don't know what to do.

I'm so scared.

I know you're doing everything you can, but I'm so scared that it won't be enough. I'm scared that I'll never get to say the things to Sawyer that I suddenly think I might need to say. I won't be able to demand explanations from him, ask him what happened, tell him I'm sorry.

I'm not sure if I'm sorry or not, but I'm pretty sure I am, though for what I don't know, and I just want to tell him that. If he dies…I don't know. I don't know what I'll do.

It's funny how you don't realize what something means to you until it's almost gone. And even now, when he may be almost gone, I'm not sure what he means to me.

I'm going to go insane.

He's sitting - well, lying - there on this little cot, sweating, mumbling indistinct words to no one at all, and I'm watching over him, like I think I'm some kind of guardian angel. Laughable, me, an angel. You're doing some doctor-like thing, and I demanded that I be allowed to stay and watch Sawyer, so I'm watching him. You're gathering fruit I think, and talking to Sayid about Shannon, being the hero, the leader, and I'm in here, watching some guy who's been nothing but rude to me for the past couple of months, and yet I know this is what I have to do.

Sincerely,

Kate

Dear Mr. Shepard,

It's been two days now since Sawyer was brought "home" and I'm still here, watching him. You keep telling me to get some sleep, to eat something, but I just can't do it. I can see that it might be getting to you just a little, the fact that I care this much about Sawyer, enough to keep a watch like this. But it doesn't matter right now.

You know who Sawyer reminds me of Jack? Wayne.

Wayne was my dad, and I blew him up. Blew up him, and his bed, and his room, and his **house**. He beat my mom, and he took over my house, this house I'd always lived in, and then it turned out he was my real dad. That almost killed me, so I blew him up. Yeah.

That's who Sawyer reminds me of. So why in the world am I so attached to him, why am I watching him now when he reminds me of a man I killed?

Is it because I'm sorry? Because I feel guilty? Because of some deep-rooted complex in which I really loved my dad, and all this time later I'm trying to make up for the fact that I killed him (can you tell I've been to my share of psychologists?). Or is it just the fact that he reminds me of my old life?

I don't know.

It seems there's a lot of things I don't know. Maybe nobody knows, or maybe I'm the only one.

But every time I look at Sawyer? I see a little bit of Wayne.

Jack, please save him, at least long enough for me to explain this to him, to tell him what's been going on between us, to tell him what this is all about, and to get answers from him.

This doesn't mean I love him Jack. At least, I don't think it does.

Is this what love is, feeling so scared for a person that you're scared for yourself, going through what they're going through every step of the way, and hoping against hope that they'll come out of it alive?

If that's what love is, I love both of you.

Imagine what a problem that would be.

Sincerely,

Kate

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I'm trying to review all your stories, and I will get around to it - things have just been a little weird at my house lately. The reason I'm updating so fast is that I'm sick, and that I've got several of these letters written. **

**Thanks so much for reading, and please review!**


	4. Wondering About Horses

_A/N: Here's the fifth one. I know it's short, but seeing as it's something of a big happening, I thought it could stand on its own. Enjoy!_

Dear Mr. Shepard,

I need to tell you about something that happened today.

I was in the jungle, getting food. You told me to get food for Sawyer. You remember that? Anyway, that's what I was doing, when I saw it.

I saw a horse.

I'm serious. And if it was stress, or lack of food, or lack of sleep, or whatever, fine. But this horse seemed very…solid. Very real.

I don't know what to do. You confuse me.

You especially confused me today.

I kissed you. It was wonderful. But it seems that at the moment, that's beside the point.

And then I ran, because I'm really good at running, running is something I can do. I ran to Sawyer. And the whole time, I'm asking myself what I'm doing, but I'm doing it anyway, I'm running to Sawyer, and then I'm there, and I'm telling him things, but only because he's asleep.

But then he's not.

I know I'm not making any sense, but the point? The point is that Sawyer can see this horse too. He can.

I wonder if you could.

I hate myself for that, and I'm not trying to question you (not really anyway), but I wonder if you could see the horse, even if it was standing right in front of you.

I wonder what you did after I ran off.

I wonder if you told anyone?

I wonder what in the world I'm doing, sitting here next to Sawyer. You haven't come back yet, and he's resting again. You'd be perfectly happy with his condition, he's doing just fine, much better than when he came in, obviously - he ate some mashed up fruit. He looks so peaceful this way, asleep. I could almost believe that he's not the guy that scares me out of my mind, the guy that pulls me two ways at once.

I want to talk to you, but I know if you come in I'll run.

I hear footsteps. I have to hide this letter and go - now.

- Kate

_A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review!_

_Oh wait! Don't go yet:P _

_I just want to thank **everyone **who's reviewed up to this point, and who chooses to review now. Also, I want to say that, for those who've been asking, it won't all be letters. Some of it will involve live action, though that bit comes toward the end._

_And for those of you who've been showing acute horror at the fact that Kate is unsure of her feelings towards Sawyer (I to show horror when this emerges:P), well, she's confused. But I wouldn't worry to much if I were you. :) _


	5. A One Way Ticket to Nowhere

_A/N: Well, here it is, the next installment. I don't think I've got much to say, so, without further ado, please read on! _

Dear Mr. Shepard,

I think I've made a mistake.

I saw you earlier - with Ana Lucia, that new girl from the tail section of the plane. Pretty girl, congratulations.

You both looked really happy, and that's good. That's good because I want you to be happy. But I'm not that unselfish, because I don't just want you to be happy, I want you to be happy with me. Me, me, me, me, me. And I wonder if I could do that? If I could help you be happy?

You're laughing with her right now, and I wonder what she said to make you laugh? I wonder if I would have thought of it. And she's laughing now, at something you said, and I wonder if whatever it was would have made me laugh. And now you both look kind of serious and I swear if that arm of yours goes around her shoulder, I will soon be forced to hit someone. Preferably her, but so as to be fair, maybe you as well. 

I wonder if I really screwed up earlier, if I shouldn't have run.

I've been running all my life Jack. I don't think anything, maybe not even love (whatever it is) can stop that. But maybe we could find out, if we gave it a shot.

I don't know.

I'm being stupid. I'm going to go over there. Maybe I'll talk to Sawyer. Maybe I'll talk to you. But you know what? I'll probably talk to Sawyer. You and Ana Lucia? I hope you enjoy each others' company. You can get married for all I care!

Oh what a lie. What a stupid lie.

I have to go. Bye now.

Sincerely,  
Kate

Dear Mr. Shepard,

So here we are.

Nowhere.

You're over there, talking to Ana, probably having the time of your life, and I'm here with Sawyer, trying to decide if I am or not. I don't think I am. Having the time of my life that is.

I think I would give almost anything to switch places with that girl you're sitting next to and shooting those sweet looks at. The only looks you ever shot at me were confused ones, frustrated ones. I think that for the past week since I kissed you my heart has been pulled one way and then another, and I think that pretty soon, it may crack down the middle.

Or, more likely, it'll explode into a million tiny pieces, and even you, the doctor, won't be able to fix it. Not then.

Sawyer's pretty proud of himself, and part of me wants to let that happen. Let him be proud, let me be his. After all, in some ways, he's a lot like me. So part of me just wants to give up.

But I don't think I can. I've never been one for giving up. I mean, come on, if I gave up, I wouldn't be Kate.

But then, Kate isn't in the most enviable position right now, so maybe I don't want to be her.

I don't know who I want to be.

I wish you could help me. I even wish Sawyer could help me. If he could help me, I could just decide I was in love with him and let this whole thing go. But the thing is that I don't think he can help me - especially not when I haven't told him any of this. So what do I do?

No idea.

Sincerely,  
Kate

_A/N: Please do tell me what you thought. We're coming up towards a climax here…Dun, dun, dun… :P Other than that, just please review. Thanks!_


	6. The Price of Tea in China

_A/N: Yay! (does the happy fanfic dance) I'm off hiatus early! So here's the latest chapter of "Letters You'll Never Get." Hope you like it. Sorry I haven't been updating very regularly, but life gets in the way. :P _

Dear Mr. Shepard,

It really seems like years ago since we crashed here. So much has happened, so much. I mean, we're all different people then we were when we landed. And here we are, "with" people. I don't really like that term, but it's what's used I guess. You're "with" Ana Lucia, and I'm "with" Sawyer. It still makes me cringe. Honestly. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. And sure, Sawyer's okay. No, not just okay, he's really hot, admittedly. But he's not you. I think I've said it before: Sawyer is Sawyer, and you're you. That's all there is to it.

I miss you. I miss the theory that I could be with you. It always used to be nice to imagine that someday, if I got up the guts, and realized just what I was doing, we could "get together." You know, I could be "with" you.

Still hating that word.

And now that little hope, you know, a little thought that used to keep me going occasionally, when I didn't know what I was doing (and we all know how often that occurred) sometimes, it helped me.

So here we are, nothing, a heaping helping of nothing. You. Me. Us. We aren't.

God, I'm starting to wax poetic.

You know what? I'm going to go talk to Sawyer. You and Ana Lucia can do whatever you want.

Preferably something platonic.

Liking sitting five feet apart on the beach, talking about the weather and the price of tea in China.

Sincerely,

Kate

Dear Mr. Shepard,

You make me so **angry**.

I'm an angry person Jack. People tell me that (including shrinks). I've been told that quite often, and I've gotten used to it. Anger can get things done you know. Anger can save your life.

I haven't seen you angry very often Mr. Shepard, but that can be the most dangerous kind of anger. The one that simmers inside a steady, reliable person until it can't simmer anymore - and then it explodes.

But back to me, because I'm getting tired about talking about unattainable you.

The point about me is that I'm furious. I really am. I'm angry at you for not realizing what I wanted you to realize. For not seeming to understand. For not picking up on whatever…vibes, or signals I was sending. In other words, I'm mad at you for some really stupid things, which doesn't matter, because being mad's my right, and nobody's going to take it from me.

The people in my life that make me mad are the one's I love Mr. Shepard. Either that or they're random strangers with terrible, tacky pick-up lines in seedy bars. There. Said a lot more about me than you wanted to know, eh?

Sometimes I imagine that you read these, so I'm just going to try to make you angry. Really angry. Because after all, I'm mad at you. If I make you mad enough, maybe we can have a good old-fashioned screaming match. I'm good with those. I'm not that good with all this "love" stuff. To confusing, and to intangible.

But a nice, loud, argument would be very tangible, very concrete. I'd take that any day.

Sincerely,

Kate

_A/N: Please let me know what you thought of it:D _


	7. Freakish Transformations Into Poets

"_Gravitation can not be held responsible for people falling in love."_

_- Albert Einstein _

Dear Mr. Shepard,

I'm just gonna say it right now. This is it. **I'm giving up on you**.

I know I haven't written to you in a very long time. Almost two months. So that makes it… What, almost three months since you and Ana Lucia became an "item." Same for me and Sawyer. I'm gonna tell you the truth here. Pretty much all of it. So listen up.

From the day we landed on this island, ever since you asked me to sew you up, you've been in my head, and I haven't been able to get you out. I've been…in love? I think this is Kate Austin's definition of love. Yes, it's caring, and understanding, and it's also fear for that person, and all of that. I've tried to define love in almost all of these letters Jack. And I've tried to decide - am I in love with you, or Sawyer? And I've come up with a definition for love: it's you. It's Jack. You're my definition love. That's just it.

Now, on with the story, eh?

So much happened in between. I mean, the whole time, I loved you. We met Rosseau, Claire had her baby, Boone died…That was hard on all of us. The raft was launched, we found the hatch, Shannon died.

We're coming up on some really recent history now.

Are you paying attention?

Sawyer came back. I thought maybe I loved him. I honestly did. I mean, when he was lying there, looking so helpless (and so much like Wayne) I really thought I might very well be in love with him. And after that kiss, things were completely confused. Topsy-turvy, thrown upside down. When you didn't…come after me, I thought you didn't care. Or, even if you did, that I'd messed up, rushed things, or that…I don't know. So I "got" with Sawyer, especially after I saw you "get" with Ana Lucia.

Here's the deal, okay?

Even though I'm "with" Sawyer, I still love **you**.

But I'm giving up. It's been to long, you're to "with" her, I'm to…not with you I guess. Last letter. The end. No more. I've waited to long, and I've given up to many times, and I've lost to many answers. If these letters have done anything, they've turned me into some kind of weird poet.

These letters didn't even help Jack.

Still, I thought I'd write one more.

I'll see you around Jack.

Bye.

Love,

Kate

_A/N: Is this the end…! Well, no, it's not. So, come back for the **live action** epilogue:P The Einstein quote was just a whim. _


	8. Live Action Epilogue!

_A/N: Here it is everybody. Hope I don't disappoint anybody! Anyway, happy reading. _

She signs the last letter with a flourish, an angry one, but a flourish all the same. Because for once, she would have liked to get what she wanted.

Oh well.

So if she's so "done" if that was so final, why does she keep coming back to the stash of letters (she's got them hidden in a shoe box in a closet, on an upper shelf inside the hatch)?

The third time she returns she stops just outside the door because someone's in there. She cautiously sticks her head in only to jerk it back out, mortified to see Jack standing there looking at something. She knows without checking what that something will be. There's no question that the way her luck runs, he's reading her letters. She can feel her face getting hotter by the second, and can only imagine how red she must be.

Kate sticks her head back through the door, taking care to keep quiet. She studies the look on his face. It's serious, with the tip of his tongue sticking out of one corner of his mouth. She would laugh if this wasn't so mortifying. Having her stupidly romantic dreams stomped on by the object of her affections wasn't what she'd had in mind for the day. In fact, she'd been going to go pick some fruit, but whatever.

Just then, he looks up. Unable to draw her head back in time, instead she tries to look like she's just walking in and hasn't been trying to see what he's doing for the past few minutes.

"Hey." It comes out a little strangled, but almost better than she expected.

"Uh, hey." He looks terrified. She could laugh that she scares him that much, if she weren't so terrified herself.

"So…A little light reading huh?" It comes out overly sarcastic, because she's doing her best to sound nonchalant about it. He turns red, and fumbles around for something to say.

"I never knew you were such a poet Kate." Is what comes out. She stares at him. She'd expected a denial, or at least an apology. He could at least apologize for reading her private papers!

Then she realized they were technically addressed to him - he probably hadn't realized until it was to late that they were never meant to be delivered.

He was still waiting for her to say something. She didn't have anything to say. He seemed to take it as anger, or at the very least stony silence, because his fingers fumbled and shook so much that he dropped the box with her letters in it. The last one came up on top, with the words, "I'm giving up on you" seemingly blaring at Kate. She almost groaned out loud. How much worse could it get? You finally decide to stop writing pointless letters to a guy you met thanks to a luckless plane crash, and he finds all your romantic writings - and _reads_ them!

"Look, sorry you saw all that, alright? But you can just pretend it never happened, you know? I mean, you can just pretend that the creepy ex-convict never wrote you a bunch of letters, and get on with your happy normal life." It came out sounding perhaps a little - well, okay, a lot - more bitter than she'd intended.

He blanches even further, and she sighs. It's not his fault she's head-over-heels for him. She shouldn't be making this worse.

"I'm sorry." She breathes, bending down to pick up all the letters.

"No, hey, hang on." Jack bends down as well, their heads bumping in a classic romantic comedy fashion. She would be thinking it was clichéd - if her head weren't throbbing and Jack wasn't _quite_ so close to her. "I'm sorry too. Why are you sorry? I shouldn't have read your stuff." The apology is genuine. Both of them are carefully avoiding the topic of the letters themselves, and more importantly, what they were about.

When they've all been placed back in the shoebox, she stands up to leave. It's Jack's button shift. She's almost out the door, but she pauses, and at the moment, he calls her back. "Kate?"

He looks troubled, uncertain, and very red. But he's also clearly got something to say.

She almost stops him, before they dig themselves deeper into a hole they can't climb back out of, but she opens her mouth to late as his first words float out into the air.

"I'm so sorry -"

"It's okay, you've apologized already, it wasn't your fault -" Still trying to stop him because she really hopes now that she can prevent some kind of catastrophe.

"- for not doing something."

He continues on as though she never said a thing, his eyes cast down to his worn shoes. "I should have said something to you, but I guess we were both…I mean, we were…I don't know." His voice peters out and he kicks the shoebox, scattering the letters all around the room. He groans out loud because this is clearly going from bad to worse.

"Oh God I'm sorry. I'll pick them up, hang on."

"Pick them up?" She laughs mirthlessly, cynic that she is. "Why would you do that?"

"I liked them." He says simply. She can tell he's very embarrassed, but she's to busy trying to process what he's just said to take in the fact that he'd probably like to be sinking into a hole in the ground right now.

He liked them?

He liked them.

A grin begins to creep along her mouth, spreading wider and wider along her face and she can't stop it. She thinks maybe something's wrong with her cheek bones. It doesn't matter.

He liked them.

Her stomach revolts against this quick mood change by fluttering uncontrollably, she is woefully embarrassed, and she feels a headache coming on, but none of it really matters.

His face is instantly readable to her in a way it's never been before. It's like an open book, and she can see everything she needs to see right there. He does care. He does.

Really, what else does she need to know?

Later, they will have to worry about their respective "significant others", and about he hubbub this will cause among the survivors. Later they will have to worry about Sawyer and Ana Lucia, the con man and the policewoman. But personally she suspects they'll wind up together eventually. And now is not the moment to worry about it.

It's a beautiful sunset, an example of that fairytale love she referred to hesitantly, almost scornfully, in her first letter to him. The beach is quiet and still, and the only sound is the waves on the shore. Its almost scarily perfect and she wonders if she'll wake up in a minute and find that it's Sawyer she's leaning up against and not Jack.

But she knows that it **is** Jack because he's just so Jack, solidly and dependably, wonderfully, awkwardly, perfectly Jack.

Her head just fits so perfectly on his shoulder that there doesn't seem to be a point in worrying about anything but, well, anything. His arm is protectively settled around her waist and they don't even have to look at each other to know that things will eventually be alright.

It seems to be a perfect moment, and she carefully files it away in her head, so that she can pull it out again and replay it over and over again.

She knows she's being hopelessly sentimental and mushy. Thoughtlessly irrational. Ridiculously romantic. She's never been one for things like this, she never thought perfect moments existed.

You learn something new every day.

She also knows such a perfect moment will not require a kiss. It does not need one to be perfect. But she also knows that she's going to kiss him anyway.

_Fin_

_A/N: Fluff galore, hopefully tempered with Kate's personality. I tried to be a little cynical somewhere in there...I think. Anyway, that's the end! Please let me know what you thought of it - good? bad? so-so? a great way to escape doing homework? whatever it was, I want to hear all about it :P_

_Thanks so much to..._

forever-lost-12, xo-Mess-xo, EternalConfusion, knocking-on-heavens-door, Dee Lee, CindyCurl, LostBeth, Orlando-crazy, shamelessOne, flight815survivor, gothicelf9, FanOfLost, jes-d, IHeartLost11, Bucci, Love Mistook, Antatobo, lolohannah, LostWithoutJate, KateLilly, Gilmore-Girls&Lost-Fan, Laura.Amy.Leigh, and ObsessedwithLOST

_... for reviewing. If I've missed **anyone** my apologies I am really sorry. I hear we're not allowed to do individual reviewer thank you's anymore so I'll just say this: you guys have been really awesome, and you kept me turning out these letters. I really hope you liked the "live action" epilogue. Thanks again everybody and please review! _


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